


shades of gray

by takethebreadsticksandRUN



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, basically a metaphor for how being depressed and lonely makes life dull and lifeless, because i'm a sucker for it and NOBODY CAN STOP ME, can i just tell you how much pain season four put me in?, first I love you, i have written so many scottish safehouse fics do you honestly think i'll stop now?, i'm going to project so hard onto BOTH of them, it's a lot y'all so this is me coping, it's not very important but jon here is asexual and kiss-averse, martin please isolating yourself will not solve ANY problems, no season five get out of my house with that nonsense, nope shhh let me have this, takes place between season four and the scottish safehouse period, the lonely makes you colorblind, timeline is screwed guys, typical season four angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27993684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethebreadsticksandRUN/pseuds/takethebreadsticksandRUN
Summary: He’s gotten used to it, the colorblindness. It didn’t take very long. After all, it probably took him days to realize it was gone, but once he did notice, the world seemed drabber than before, it felt…off, somehow. Just another thing that was left dirty and lifeless in his wake. Martin couldn’t tell what the shapes on his wallpaper were supposed to be. Flowers? Stars? Something in the middle?ORMartin goes colorblind when he pledges himself to the Lonely. It's not that big of a deal, until it is.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 28
Kudos: 140





	shades of gray

**Author's Note:**

> well hello there! fancy seeing you here, reading a fic i created with my blood sweat and tears. i've had this idea for months and it's been sittting in my drafts for even longer i cannot bear to look at it. so here! take it, it's all for your enjoyment and pleasure  
> please let me know what you think!  
> xxx

It’s funny how Martin didn’t even notice the world was slowly losing color around him until the only shades he could see were blacks and grays.

One could say funny. One could also say depressing, strange, any number of other words that would do the job as well, but none summed the situation up as well as _funny_. It was the first time he had laughed in months, staring into the mirror and trying to remember what color his hair had been.

This was one loss that didn’t hurt, so he savored it, trying to wring humor out of the only situation he could.

Martin sighed, eventually giving up, and ran a comb through his hair, quickly tidying it. _Time for another day of being ignored and ignoring that they’re ignoring me_. Blankly, he wonders what color the jumper he’s wearing is, then decides it doesn’t matter.

Very little did, those days.

~~~

He’s gotten used to it, the colorblindness. It didn’t take very long. After all, it probably took him days to realize it was _gone_ , but once he did notice, the world seemed drabber than before, it felt…off, somehow. Just another thing that was left dirty and lifeless in his wake. Martin couldn’t tell what the shapes on his wallpaper were supposed to be. Flowers? Stars? Something in the middle?

He didn’t mention this to Peter; he had a feeling he didn’t need to. After all, when Martin came into work one day, wearing mismatched socks, the older man had pointed this out with a sly grin.

“Getting a little distracted, are we? Or is it something else?” He had chuckled, a sound like a smoker trying to play a sandpaper harmonica. “It’s strange, going blind in the heart of the Beholding. Just another paradox for _Elias_ to puzzle over.”

Martin hadn’t said anything. One day, these words might have provoked him into something, be it a sharp retort or physical retaliation, but he simply didn’t have the energy to. As exhausting as spending time with other people could be, loneliness drained him in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

He had simply nodded and walked off, bending down to inspect his socks when he was out of sight. Peter could have been lying, for all he knew. The fabric seemed to be patterned in identical stripes, faintly fading into different shades of gray.

Peter didn’t joke. Humor isn’t a trait one dedicated to avoiding people tended to cultivate.

~~~

Stoplights were hard, now. Thankfully, Martin rode the train rather than risk trying to drive in central London, so not being able to tell whether the light was green or red wasn’t that important. It turns out a lot of things were dependent on one’s ability to see color. Advertisements didn’t hold the same appeal they might have; his carefully curated collection of tea was probably a mess now, he had organized it by box color.

It only took a few days for these small stings to fade. He didn’t need to eat, not really, and grocery shopping held the promise of too many people bumping into him, _noticing_ him. Martin ghosted through his colorless world, not stopping to smell the roses nor admire the sunset.

~~~

He was wearing his yellow jumper, the one with the ribbed cuffs. Or, he supposed he _probably_ was. There was no way to know for sure, but at this point, Martin couldn’t care any less. He had larger things to worry about, namely, things that started with _J_ and rhymed with _dawn_.

Or, the person walking very fast up the hall toward him.

Now, this was strange for several reasons. One, _nobody_ should be able to see him or even walk _toward_ him for that matter. The fog was supposed to have taken care of that, along with all the other things that ranged from uncomfortable social interactions to downright painful conversations with the people who had thought they were close to him.

Two, not only should he be invisible to the world at large, but more specifically Jon. He should _not_ be able to see him, to seek him out, to talk to him.

Martin was wearing his yellow jumper, the one he suddenly remembered he had been wearing on his first day of the Archives. Tim and Sasha had been there to welcome him “to hell,” as Tim had succinctly put it.

He missed them. He missed the way Sasha would smile when he walked into the room-

No, the way that _thing_ smiled at him. He couldn’t even escape his own memories, twisted and broken as they were.

Martin was startled back into the present by a touch on his elbow. He jumped backward, not used to the way it felt to be noticed. It felt like being alive for the briefest amount of time; it felt like red hot brands were pressing into every inch of exposed skin.

“Martin?”

His voice was soft, softer than any other time Martin had heard it. He wanted to shout, to swear, to cry, to make a sound that meant he was still here, he was still hiding behind a mask as always, but this mask was closer to the truth than other had been.

He hated how Jon still made his knees weak, he hated how much he wanted to grab his hand, he hated how the first thought through his mind was _you were too late._ He didn’t even know what Jon was late for, only that time was passing much too quickly.

Martin couldn’t escape this time, not with the gaze of the man he both feared and revered pinning him in place. He nodded noncommittally, not speaking, but not backing away.

Jon looked like he was about to swallow his tongue and then disappear into the floor, but he stood firm. “Where have you been?”

Of course. _Of course,_ the only person to notice how far away Martin truly was was the very person he was trying to protect. He fidgeted with the sleeves of his jumper ( _yellow yellow yellow_ ) and stared at the floor. “I’m right here,” he said quietly, his voice sounding like it was a thousand miles away from his body.

He could feel Jon staring at him, his once-green eyes-

Martin risked looking up. There he saw concern, fear, and something _more_ in his eyes, but those eyes were bottomless black, colorless as everything else around him.

“No, you’re not.” Jon let go of his arm, letting his hand slip back to his side. There was a new scar on the side of his palm, one that hadn’t been there before. Or had it?

Martin couldn’t remember.

He laughed, the kind of laughter that is deafening in its quietness, desperate in its hopelessness, empty of emotion yet somehow able to say things he wouldn’t have been able to. “I haven’t left.” Martin wanted to put as much force as he could behind the words, to make Jon See the truth, but it was no use. They came out as dull as the rest of him.

Jon looked at him for a moment, words balancing on the tip of his tongue, pressing against his ( _red_ ) lips. “I miss you.”

Martin’s breath hitched. “I’m right here,” he said again, both of them knowing it was a lie. “You don’t miss me.”

He hesitated, looking like he was going to say something else, more empty promises. Jon shook his head slightly. “I do. Martin-“

“Please, Jon,” he interrupted, the edges of his vision blurring. “I can’t do this. Not right now.” Martin turned away, half-hoping he would do something, and slowly walked away. Mist gathered at his heels, finally hiding him from view.

For the rest of the day, Martin categorized the world around him in shades of Jon, remembering how to forget.

~~~

The Forsaken echoed silently around him, waves muted in the distance. Martin sat on a hard plastic chair, facing away from the water, and cried tears that stained his skin so dark the few freckles shone like stars against the inky black.

~~~

“…look at me, Martin, tell me what you see.”

Martin clutched at Jon’s wrists, desperately trying to anchor himself in any way he could. He wasn’t supposed to want this still. He should have been able to let him go, to let himself drift into obscurity, where nothing could hurt him. So why, _why_ , was he so hesitant to do so? To remove his hands from Jon’s wrists and clutch instead at the sea-sticky air?

Beneath the force of Jon’s words, he heard something else, something that told him to stay and see where this might lead. He heard desperation- a desperation to not lose _Martin_ , of all people.

Gasping for air and straining to be heard, he gasped, “I see- I see _you_ , Jon.”

And suddenly, he did. The fog cleared slightly, gathering to the sides of them like even the clouds couldn’t stand between the two men anymore. The ground shook beneath him as Martin collapsed to his knees, trying to blink away tears. Jon dropped beside him, still holding his hands. The nondescript landscape rolled by, saturated in deep blacks and grays.

“I was all on my own,” he gasped, “All alone. I…”

“Not anymore,” he said tenderly, anchoring him so he wouldn’t drift away again. “Let’s go home.”

_Home?_ Where was home? Where was his home? Did he still have one? Did he ever even _have_ one? After little to no deliberation, Martin decided that yes, he did have a home. Home was wherever Jon was.

~~~

Martin fiddled with his seatbelt, searching for something to do with his hands. He had been (pretending to be) asleep for the last few hours, curled up, away from Jon, in the tiny car Basira had lent them. Jon hadn’t said anything, so they had been driving in silence for what felt like years.

He coughed and Jon looked over, concerned. “Hey, you’re up.” Martin felt a twinge of guilt at pretending to be asleep but quickly smothered it. “How are you?”

He considered for a moment. “I’m- not really sure,” he confessed. It was true. After succumbing to the Lonely for months, maybe even years, to be brought back into the world of bustling people was exhilarating yet painful. Every social interaction left him feeling bruised, somehow, like he had forgotten how to truly be a person. He could still feel the dampness of fog against his skin, but he wasn’t surprised. He had chosen this path, after all.

“It’s just a lot,” he continued. “Y’know? I…don’t know what I’m supposed to be feeling, right now.”

Jon bit his lip. Without looking at him, he reached over and gently squeezed Martin’s hand. “That makes sense. You’ve been through a traumatic experience. Just know that I’m here, alright?”

_You weren’t there. You were dead and then you were back but you were still gone and I don’t know how to find you after all this time being apart you still terrify me and I hate not feeling but isn’t it better than feeling everything at once? It’s easier, after all, to keep thinking he’s dead and never coming back and-_

He interrupted his spiraling thoughts with a vicious shake of his head, _no. He’s here now. He is **here**_. “Thank you.” Martin stared out the window, watching the countryside blur by, the world looking like the printer had run out of ink.

~~~

Daisy’s cabin was…well, he wasn’t sure what he expected. Certainly not this, a quaint little cabin with flowers growing rampantly across the yard, sitting at the top of a hill overlooking the village half a mile below.

“Welcome,” Jon said dramatically, sweeping his arms broadly at the surrounding scenery, “To the safehouse. Your home away from home, as it so happens.”

Martin’s mind caught on that word ( _home_ ) and repeated it endlessly, making any thought difficult. “Your home away from where you are being investigated for committing a crime, more like,” he muttered.

Jon chuckled. “Or that. Shall we take a look inside?” He shouldered his bag, tightening his hold on Martin’s small rucksack. He had refused to let him carry it, spouting some nonsense about letting him rest, not overstraining himself after…well, _everything_

He followed Jon up the drive in a daze. It was so quiet, here, aside from the chirps of birds and rustle of leaves in the slight breeze. It was nothing like the noise of London. Martin couldn’t believe he was here, in _Scotland_ , with Jon, of all people.

It felt like a dream. It felt like a nightmare. It was everything he’d wanted, yes, but he didn’t want it _this way_ , on the run from law enforcement _and_ eldritch fear mongers, the world colorless and his fingertips still numb from cold. Martin drew himself up to his full height, trying desperately to un-hunch his shoulders, to seem like he was in control of the situation and his emotions, and stepped into the cabin.

Inside, the house was clean but bare. Wooden floors were coated with a thin layer of dust, cobwebs cast shadows from where they were netted around lightbulbs, but other than the mess of abandonment, it felt like it had been waiting for them.

“Checking for weapons?” Jon asked him as he began to open all the cupboards.

“Yeah, something like that,” he said distantly. As he expected, all Daisy had in storage were a few cans of beans, a bag of rice, and _lots_ of spiders. _Better not let Jon see them,_ he thought, rifling through the drawers.

“Let me know if you find something,” Jon called as he walked down the hall toward where he presumed the bedrooms were.

As he left, a wave of tiredness washed over Martin. _What a day_ … He leaned against the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor, head in his hands. Beneath his feet, the hardwood didn’t look quite right. _Of course_. Wood was supposed to be brown, not swirls of gray and white. Martin chanced a glance up and realized the house was as colorless as the Lonely had been.

_What is happening to me?_ He closed his eyes again, breathing in deep. He could still smell the ocean, feel the sand against his skin, the salt stinging his nose and eyes. He laughed to himself, humorlessly. _You can take a man out of the lonely, but you can’t take the lonely out of a man, can you?_

The noise of Jon in the next room grew distant, his ears filling with damp silence. He kept his head in his hands, trying to contain the multitude of feelings trying to make themselves known. Panic, fear, overwhelming anxiety, loneliness-

They swirled around him, swelling into a howling cacophony of doubts and worries.

_You’ll never be good enough for him._

_You can’t even sacrifice yourself properly._

_They will find you here no matter what you do._

_Where were you when he needed you most?_

_**You’ll never truly leave this place**._

The words grew louder and louder, reinforcing his belief in their truthfulness. This was what he wanted, after all.

Wasn’t it?

Martin felt hands cupping his face, felt the warmth of another person pressing into his side. Through waves of emptiness, he heard someone calling his name. With tremendous effort, he took a deep breath and looked up.

He wasn’t in the Lonely. He was sitting on the kitchen floor, fog swirling around his ankles, Jon sitting next to him, looking terrified.

“Martin? Are you alright?”

He pushed himself to a more upright position, hastily swiping at his eyes. Jon let go of him and sat back on his heels, still worried.

“What happened?” he asked.

The little wrinkle in his forehead deepened. “You tell me,” Jon said slowly. “I came back in here to find all this mist- and you…you weren’t _there_.”

Martin swallowed, hard. “I think-“ His voice was small, shrinking, “The Lonely doesn’t want to let go of me just yet.”

He swore under his breath. “You’re right, I’m sorry, I should have thought-“

He interrupted Jon, confused. “Hang on, why are _you_ apologizing? I should be saying sorry! This isn’t your fault, it’s all mine.”

“Now that,” Jon stretched his legs out in front of him, “is a complete and total lie. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

Martin felt his voice shrinking in his chest and he curled in on himself, tucking his limbs in closer to him. “You shouldn’t have to do this.”

“Do what?’

“Deal with me being all, you know, _clingy_ and whatever.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes. Static exploded on the inside of his eyelids, colorless and sparkling.

Jon took his hand, squeezing it. “Martin, I truly and sincerely don’t mind. At _all_. Actually,” he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly with his free hand, “I kind of like it? Being close to you, I mean. I haven’t- it’s been a while since I’ve felt safe like this.”

Martin turned and gaped at him. “Do you mean that?” he asked, his voice breaking.

He brought their hands to his lips and kissed his knuckles. “With all my heart.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

They sat together in silence for a moment, Jon gently rubbing the back of his hand with a thumb. Martin’s heart felt like it was pounding out of his chest, excited at Jon’s proximity but still shaken from the latest encounter with the Lonely.

“Jon?”

“Hm?”

“What if…” Martin cleared his throat. “What if I’m never normal again? What if the Forsaken just won’t let me go, and I always have to be next to someone or the world doesn’t ever come back into color or I’m always so- distant. I don’t want to be alone, Jon,” he said quietly, hating how frail and broken he sounded.

“You aren’t alone, not anymore. I promise I will never leave you behind, I’ll stay right by your side for the rest of our lives…” Jon flushed. “That is- if you want me to.”

“Why would you do that for me?”

“Because I love you,” he said frankly. “So much, Martin.”

At that moment Martin decided it didn’t matter if his eyes could only paint Jon in black and white- the fact that he was there, by his side, was enough for him.

~~~

As it turns out, Scottish sunlight isn’t different from the sun anywhere else. The main thing Martin noticed was the fact that it was _there_. It was not constantly hidden by rain-clouds, as it had been back in London. He shuffled into the kitchen one morning a few days after their arrival at the safehouse, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Morning,” he yawned.

Jon smiled at him, leaning against the cabinet near the sink. “Morning, love. Sleep well?”

Martin groaned in response, wrapping the smaller man in a bear hug. “Not bad,” he grumbled. “Wish I was still asleep. Why’d you leave? It was so warm with you.”

“You’re adorable like this, you know that?” Jon said, laughing. Martin flushed as he leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.

At the press of Jon’s lips against his skin. soft sunrise pinks and yellows bloomed across the kitchen, dancing on the red mug in the dishrack, highlighting Jon’s dark brown skin and faded sleep-shirt. Martin gasped as the blacks and grays were filled in, almost like watching a coloring book come to life.

“What is it?” Jon asked worriedly.

He didn’t respond, just squeezed him tighter, rainbows refracted in his eyes from the tears threatening to spill.

Love-flush red was a good look on Jon, he realized.

**Author's Note:**

> if you have the time i would LOVE to hear from you, i read and respond to all comments they make me so happy guys<3<3<3


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